


Tea for Two

by LiraelClayr007



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chance Meetings, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Soft boys are soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Neville's having an ordinary day, taking a break from his plants to walk to his favorite cafe to have tea and scones. Itwouldbe an ordinary day, but there's a familiar blond at the cafe today, one who sends the day into decidedly extra-ordinary territory.orThe story of how Neville and Draco meet by accident and have tea. Twice.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Tea for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This pairing has been close to my heart for a rather long time, but this is my first time actually _writing_ it. And let me tell you, this tiny little thing took a g e s....I started it May 18, 2020 and just finished today (March 11, 2021). Part of that is obviously that I try to write way too many things all at once...but it's also that I was a bit nervous about getting it _wrong_. Which I know is silly, it's my story so it can't be wrong, not _really_.....but sometimes our brains tell us funny things.
> 
> Anyway, here they are. Two boys that I love, each for entirely different reasons, and their encounter on a summer morning.
> 
> Love,  
> Lira 🏹

_It’s Tuesday_ , Neville thinks. _Tuesday morning, and I’m walking down the lane, on my way to my favorite cafe instead of double Potions or Transfiguration or out to the greenhouses for Herbology._

He looks at the ordinary English street, filled with Muggles going about their lives. _It’s been five years_ , he thinks. _Will I ever get used to not being at Hogwarts?_

Probably not.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t actually _do_ much. He studies advanced herbology from home, and has extensive greenhouses of his own. He’s doing research on plants with healing properties, specifically those that may possibly have effects on long-term brain injuries. He’s got a personal stake there, of course, but no one’s arguing with him yet. And he also grows a lot of flowers and vegetables; there’s no magical reason, it’s just soothing to be in the garden. Plus it’s nice to eat the things he grows, and the flowers just make him happy. His parents even seem to like his tomatoes and peppers, even if they don’t quite say as much, and the flowers he brings add a bit of life to their room.

So he’s actually doing rather a lot, he just doesn’t do much that involves other people. Harry and Ron pushed him towards auror training after Hogwarts, but he’d had enough of warfare and fighting. He likes the quiet of his gardens. The thought of being at the Ministry day after day gives him a stomachache.

But today he doesn’t have to think about all that. It’s just an regular Tuesday morning, and he’s just going to have tea at the cafe, because he likes their scones and Katy always smiles and greets him by name, and sometimes they talk about her kids and sometimes they talk about his plants.

Ordinary things for an ordinary day.

“Hi Neville!” Katy smiles at him when he pushes open the cafe door.

He smiles back, pushing aside the somewhat melancholy thoughts of his walk. “Hi Katy,” he says. Nodding behind her he adds, “Looks pretty busy this morning.”

“Every table’s taken!” Her smile falls, just a bit. “Do you mind sharing? Your favorite table, the one by the window, has only one gentleman sitting at it. I don’t think he’d mind; he’s quiet, but he’s a polite sort. I don’t think either of you would be bothered too much. You probably wouldn’t even have to talk with him, he’s reading a book–”

Neville stops her with two raised ‘I surrender’ hands. “It’s alright, Katy. I’ve shared tables before, I’m sure it won’t ruin my morning tea.” He winks. “Just so long as there are still some of Becca’s blueberry scones left. If not, I’m back out the door.” He turns to leave, an exaggerated, slow turn that has Katy laughing again.

“Plenty of scones for both of you,” Katy says. At Neville’s questioning look, Katy says, “They’re his favorite, too.”

She leads him to a table where a young man with white blond hair sits, staring out the window and sipping tea, a book open on the table in front of him. There’s a leaden feeling in Neville’s stomach. _It can’t be_ , Neville thinks. _It just can’t. Didn’t he go to Azkaban?_ But no, that’s not right, Not Azkaban. Something else for this one. Neville can’t remember. But it doesn’t matter, because it can’t be him anyway–

But then the young man turns, and of course it _is_ him, Draco Malfoy, Neville’s one-time tormenter, one-time enemy, and now….

Now. What exactly is Draco Malfoy _now_?

Katy speaks quietly to Draco, who in turn smiles and nods sympathetically. Neville sees the words _of course_ on his lips, and Katy turns to Neville and ushers him to the empty chair. Neville hesitates, but only for a moment. He can handle this. He’d survived the Carrows. He’d survived Snape. He’d survived the Battle of Hogwarts, all the Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself.

Surely he can survive tea with Draco Malfoy.

And then Draco looks up and sees him, and he feels like running away. 

It’s only for a moment, just a fraction of a moment really, but he feels like that little boy learning to fly again, the one afraid of the blond boy who stole his rememberall, the one who fell off his broom and broke his arm.

But it’s only a moment, and then he sees something behind Draco’s confident exterior, something unexpected.

There’s worry in Draco’s eyes, too.

So he sits, and when he speaks he uses the tone he learned from Luna, the one that says _I’m your friend_ even when the words are talking about everything else. “Hello, Draco. It’s been awhile, you look well.”

Startled, Draco says, “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me Draco, Longbottom. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Neville’s taken aback at this. It hadn’t even occurred to him. “We’re not kids anymore, are we? Maybe we’ve grown past all that.” He shrugs, a little like the old Neville after all. “We can try anyway.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. A shuffling noise beside them nearly makes Neville jump; he’d forgotten about Katy. She’s got an odd look on her face, and he can see that she’s wondering about the rest of the story. He’s going to get an earful later, he knows.

“Could you just bring my usual, Katy? Extra scones today, I’m quite peckish.” He tries to make his smile reassuring. He’s not sure if he’s relaxed enough to succeed.

After Katy bustles off to fetch his tea and scones Draco, regarding Neville with his refined eyes, says, “So you come here often then? Often enough to know Katy and to have a regular order?”

“How do _you_ know Katy? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Katy knows everyone who comes in here,” Draco says, as if that explains everything.

Neville can’t help the thread of exasperation that slips into his voice. “I’ve been coming here three or four mornings a week for the past two years. I stopped in once a few days after I moved to town, had one of Becca’s scones, and I’ve been coming back ever since. Once or twice a week I bring Katy flowers for the counter.” He nods at the vase of daisies and roses near the cash register.

“Those are yours?” Draco sounds surprised, and impressed. “I complimented Katy on them once a few months back. Lilacs, I think, and pale pink roses. She told me one of her favorite customers kept her in flowers. Said he fell in love with Becca’s scones and…” He trails off, just looking at Neville. Finally he says, “They’re beautiful. Do you grow them with magic? I’ve never seen flowers so perfect.”

Neville shakes his head, unsure if he should smile or not, unsure how to take the compliment. “No magic. Just a greenhouse for some of the roses in the winter, and a decent knowledge of how to take care of plants.”

“Only _some_ of the roses?”

“I let a third of them rest each winter. Plants get tired too, if you make them bloom all the time. Most of my flowers I keep on their normal cycles, but I can’t help it with the roses. They’re my…” And then he remembers who he’s talking to, and he gets a bit flustered. “Well. I like them, is all. They keep me company in the winter, give me something to do.” He almost adds _someone to talk to,_ but that’s too much like confiding.

“Do you only grow flowers?” Draco sips his tea, watching Neville expectantly for his answer.

It suddenly hits him that he’s having a conversation with Draco Malfoy. About something as ordinary as gardening. And it’s–well, it’s _nice_. He risks a small smile at Draco.

“Not just flowers. I have vegetables too, in summer. But I spend most of my time on my magical plants. Mostly I just cultivate and sell some things to a shop in Diagon Alley, but I’m also working on– oh, sorry, you don’t care what I’m working on.” His tea and scones have been in front of him for a few minutes now; he absently takes a drink of his tea and barely notices that it’s too hot.

Draco looks surprised. “Of course I do. I asked, didn’t I?” He gestures encouragingly. “Go on then.”

So Neville explains about his healing plants, and his focus on brain injuries. “I don’t know if I’m being useful or just mucking about, but it’s keeping me busy.”

Draco’s giving him a look like he’s never seen him before. “Do you want to be a healer?”

Neville shakes his head. “I want to be what I am, a herbologist. I want to do research and dig in the dirt and make things grow. And possibly help some people along the way.”

“I had no idea you liked herbology.”

Neville laughs, a short bark of a laugh. “Draco, you never knew anything about me.”

Suddenly Draco, always so calm and cool, seems almost flustered. “I’ve no idea how to speak to you, Longbottom. We spent seventeen years on the opposite sides of an uncrossable line. Or seven, at least. And I wasn’t exactly kind. Not to your friends. Not to you.”

Looking Draco directly in the eye, Neville shrugs. Not an ‘it meant nothing’ shrug, but maybe a ‘we can get past it’ shrug. “Are you still a Death Eater?” He doesn’t know where he’s finding his boldness.

Draco actually snorts. _And how is it possible to make a snort sound attractive_ , Neville wonders, but he pushes the thought aside. Or possibly buries it under a rock in a deep, dark wood.

“I’m not allowed a _wand_ ,” Draco says, as if it should be obvious. “If I need magic done I need to ask someone to do it for me. Mostly I don’t, though. I live on my own, practically a muggle. Did you know I have the Trace on me again? The Ministry did it up special. They say it’s not forever, but…” His tone tells all; he never expects to do magic of his own again.

Neville feels a pang at this. An actual pang of sympathy for Draco bloody Malfoy. Because he understands what it’s like to have to live without magic. He’d been thought a squib for so long, and even when he’d gotten his wand he’d been so rubbish at magic he mostly avoided doing it. The DA helped with that.

Standing up to Voldemort didn’t hurt either.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco starts to laugh, but when Neville’s expression doesn’t change the laugh stops on a breath. “You– _Merlin_ , Longbottom, you actually mean it, don’t you.” He shakes his head, a short, well-bred shake. “Never thought I’d hear one of your lot apologize to me for anything. You should be laughing in my face. Kicking me when I’m down, that sort of thing.” There’s not a hint of irony, not a drop of self-pity in his voice when he adds, “It’s what I deserve.”

Neville pushes away from the table and storms away in one smooth motion, his chair clattering to the floor in his wake. He ignores the stares of the others in the cafe, doesn’t even acknowledge Katy’s whispered, “You alright, Neville?”

The only sound–besides the whispers–is his own frustrated breathing. No footsteps besides his own stomps.

Draco isn’t coming after him.

He’s a block away before his head starts to clear. He’s still a jumbled up ball of emotions, but at least he can think a little bit about _why_. Draco had sounded so much like “little Neville” he’d felt an almost physical ache inside. Neville is a different person now, mostly, but he still holds that little boy close. He can’t ever forget what it feels like to be looked down upon, to feel unworthy of everything, and to know that–somehow–it was all his fault. The grown, somewhat wiser Neville knows that’s rubbish, knows no one deserves to be treated that way…

And yet.

Some wounds will never heal, not completely. All it had taken was a few choice words from Draco Malfoy, of all people. And he hadn’t even been talking down on Neville, he’d been talking down on _himself_.

He walks as he thinks, and without direction his feet take him to his favorite bench in his favorite park; he sits and almost smiles, feeling his burdens lift just a bit to see the small rose garden all in bloom. It’s blurry though; he swipes at his cheeks, surprised to find a few tears have leaked from his eyes. “Good thing Draco didn’t come after me,” he mutters. “That’s all I need, him seeing me crying in the park.” Not that there’s anything wrong with crying. Not that he cares at all what Draco thinks of him.

He sits up at the thought. Had he _wanted_ Draco to come after him? Yes, he’d been under the impression that they’d been having a nice time, enjoying their tea together, having good conversation. At least at first. But it hadn’t been anything more than that. It’s not like they’d been on a _date_ or anything.

Neville is staring at roses, all red and yellow, pink and white, but all he sees is intense grey eyes.

And he wonders when, exactly, his stomach had started fluttering at the thought of Draco Malfoy focusing that intense gaze on _him_.

And then he feels it. He doesn’t look round, but he knows absolutely that Draco is there.

Looking at him.

“I wondered if you’d come,” Neville says softly.

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of fabric. Maybe a shrug. “I paid for the tea. And the scones. Katy didn’t want to let me, but I insisted.”

“I have a running tab,” Neville says. He’s still looking down, looking away. Avoiding Draco’s gaze.

More rustling fabric. Another shrug? “Just seemed the right thing to do, after I chased you off like that.” The tone is so self-deprecating it’s almost like a blow.

“You didn’t chase me off, I ran away.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

Neville lets out a breath. He doesn’t want to argue. “I don’t know. Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”

Neither of them moves for a minute. Two. Finally Neville says, “It wasn’t uncrossable.”

“It– what?” Draco sounds completely lost.

“The line. It wasn’t uncrossable. You crossed it. You were at the Battle of Hogwarts but you didn’t fight. I saw you there, huddled in a corner with your parents.”

“Oh for– Longbottom, that wasn’t crossing a line. That was staying neutral to save our skin!”

Neville looks up for the first time, lets the corner of his mouth quirk up in an almost smile. “Are you truly going to stand there and argue semantics with me, Malfoy? When I’m clearly giving you an out?”

Draco throws his hands up in the air in an overly dramatic gesture. “Thank Merlin, you’re calling me Malfoy again. Hearing you call me Draco was just too weird.”

Rolling his eyes and fighting back a grin, Neville says, “Sit down, Draco. I do _not_ like looking up at you.”

Draco sits, and rather closer than Neville had been expecting. “Here,” he says, shoving a white bakery bag towards Neville.

It’s heavy with scones, and still warm. He almost reaches in and grabs one then and there. “This is more than I had,” he says slowly.

“Mine are in there too. I thought, maybe...” Draco says, his tongue tripping over the words.

Standing up, Neville says, “Come on, then.”

Draco looks up, unsure.

“I’m not far from here, we can walk. I’ll show you my gardens. We’ll have tea.”

“But didn’t we just–”

“You’re English, Malfoy, there’s always time for tea.”

Draco actually smiles at this. “Alright.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Neville offers his hand. Draco, after a brief hesitation of his own, takes it.

Draco’s hand is warm, and comfortable, and surprisingly calloused. He must actually be working somewhere. They’ll talk about it later.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft, you know. Don’t expect me to start calling you Neville.”

Chuckling softly, Neville squeezes Draco’s hand. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

Draco gives him a curious look. “When did you get taller than me?”

Neville’s laugh bursts out, he can’t help himself. “Somewhere around fourth year. But in case you forgot, I was terrified of you. I generally stayed as far away as possible.” Draco looks embarrassed, like he’s about to apologize, so Neville stops him. “Please don’t. Maybe we can agree to not talk about school? At least for today?” He’s looking at Draco when he says it, and sees understanding flash in his eyes. 

“So there might be…” Draco seems unable to finish. 

“Tomorrow? Yes. And possibly even another day after that. But let’s just have tea for now, yeah?” Neville doesn’t quite look, but he can see Draco’s soft smile from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> BONUS SCENE
> 
> I wanted this to be in the story, but it didn't really fit anywhere. But because it's in my head, let me give it to you...
> 
> *****
> 
> They're sitting on a blanket in the grass in Neville's garden, eating scones. Conversation flows like summer breeze, light and easy.
> 
> "You work in a _bookshop_?" Neville can't hide the surprise in his voice.
> 
> Draco grins. "A _muggle_ bookshop."
> 
> Neville's eyes widen. "Your parents must hate that."
> 
> "Oh, they've got no idea," Draco says. "I tried to tell them I was looking for work and they told me 'A Malfoy does not _labor_ , Draco.'" He gives a derisive snort. "I've no idea what they think I'm doing for money. Maybe they think I found a way around the trace and I'm magicking money somehow? Who knows." He waves dismissively. "We don't see each other much. Our ideals have...shifted."
> 
> They just look at each other for a moment. The words are understood, they don't need to be spoken.
> 
> "But I like my job. I unload the books and put them on the shelves, and it feels good to _do_ something. And when there's down time I can read whatever I want–don't look at me like that, I actually like to read, though I kept that hidden at school. I had a reputation to uphold." Neville laughs. Draco smiles, actually blushes slightly. "The best part of my job is helping customers find books. It's why the owner lets me read so much of the inventory, so I can connect people with the right books. Maybe what they came in for, maybe something unexpected. Turns out I'm pretty good at it." He shrugs. "At first it was just a job, a way to get money to live. But now..." They both let the silence go for a long moment. Then Draco finishes. "Now, I think I'd miss it. If the Ministry came and gave me my wand back tomorrow, I think I'd still keep working there. I think that's who I am now."
> 
> Draco looks away, suddenly very interested in the grass just beyond the edge of their blanket. 
> 
> Neville reaches across the small space between them, takes Draco's hand in his. He feels the callouses against his palm, callouses earned carrying boxes and shelving book after book.
> 
> "I'm glad you found yourself," he says.
> 
> _And I think I'm glad I found you, too,_ he thinks to himself.


End file.
